At some point you realize that life goes on. Even though you feel like yours has completely turned upside down, and nothing will ever be normal again... you adjust. You go from thinking about keeping this tiny human alive 100% of your day, to 98%, to 95%... And you find you have room to start to care about a few of the things you did before he made his arrival.
We're still not great at it, but we're trying. In between the laundry and daycare pickups and trying to teach him how to eat real food, we've been doing a few other things. You've already met our pretty new fence, although I've since made good on my promise to cover it in Christmas lights. Recently we had an electrician come and make a few other small improvements. He added some new outlets with USB ports (ooh look at us joining the future) and turned our basement stairs into our new favorite place. What used to be a hazardous mess of electrical problems that left you periodically unable to turn on the lights (which is a problem when you're carrying a baby in a car seat among other stuff up and down them), is now an effortless, lighted, oasis. I'm partly joking, but the motion sensor lights switches make me so happy. No more fumbling for lights, no more safety hazard. This new mom is happy. [Side note: How long do I get to be a new mom? When do I get my 'seasoned mom' badge??]
Recently Tom and I were even able to go to the movies! In a theater! Without a baby! (Also, go see Molly's Game - do it!)
It's hard to take a step back and appreciate how far we've come, and how temporary our situation is when you haven't had a full night of sleep in weeks. It's hard to remember they're not going to be little for long when you're constantly in survival mode.
There will be a day when I don't hear raspberries being blown for hours upon hours. (Maybe). Eventually I'll forget what his mouth looks like when he's asleep, has dropped his pacifier, but is still sucking like it's there. He'll stop pushing his little feet against my stomach when I lean down over him, and his fingers will learn how to function independently instead as one big scoop as he grabs at my shirt.
There might be a day when he doesn't randomly cackle from the backseat at some unknown thing that he finds hilarious. He might stop sticking everything immediately in his mouth, and lose his love for chewing on my fingers. He won't grab on to my shirt when I hold him, or lie his head on my shoulder when he's tired.
Some day he won't kick his feet up and down when he's excited to eat and clasp his hands into tight fists. And one of these days he's going to figure out this crawling thing, so we won't see him lying on his stomach with all limbs up in the air as he whines that he isn't moving anywhere.
Now that we have more time to reflect, I already wish I remembered more from the past few months. I want to soak up every minute.